


Sure

by Penthesilea1623



Category: Dragon Age
Genre: A Happy Accident AU, F/M, Modern AU, where Annie and Anders end up together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-13
Updated: 2016-08-13
Packaged: 2018-08-08 12:25:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7757815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Penthesilea1623/pseuds/Penthesilea1623
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A follow up to "Why Haven't You Ever Asked Me Out" in which Anders finally marries Annie Hawke.</p>
<p>Originally posted on my tumblr, added to AO3 to prove that I am capable of letting Anders have a happy ending.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sure

She woke slowly, trapped in a tangled combination of quilts, her own hair and Anders’ lanky arms and legs, and she smiled, utterly content.

Anders hated the cold, hated to be cold. Annie barely noticed it; it took a five minute argument to get her to wear a coat in the middle of winter. Their first few months as roommates had been a constant battle of open windows vs. closed, and of both of them surreptitiously changing the setting on the thermostat. When they had gone from friends to lovers it had been cotton sheets and a thick quilt vs. flannel sheets and a down comforter. Eventually they’d settled on cotton sheets and a quilt with a down comforter on Anders’ side of the bed. Not that it made much difference; by morning she was always buried under all the sheets, and blankets, and Anders, as if he sought her out as a supplementary heat source while he slept

Much as she was right now, she thought, not that they were even in a proper bed. 

They’d borrowed a slightly beaten up van from Varric, one that had seen better days, but still ran perfectly. It was a faded black, with the words “Red Rock Excavation and Site Preparation” painted on the side along with a poorly executed picture of what appeared to be a glowing red rock (“Don’t ask.” Varric had said when Annie had questioned him about it. “One of Bartrand’s less successful business ventures.”). There had been more than enough room in the back of it to throw down an old futon and when Annie had made it up with sheets and pillows and quilts it was downright cozy. Anders had bitched about the arrangement, but when she reminded him the alternative was camping in a tent with sleeping bags on the ground he’d grudgingly agreed to it. 

Light was beginning to filter in through the small windows of the van doors, and extricating herself from Anders’ hold, she reached up and unlatched them, pushing one open. She let out a happy sigh at the sight that greeted her.

The Waking Sea was eerily still this morning, the beach deserted, and there were just a few clouds in the sky, out at the horizon, already tinged pink and orange from the rising sun. It had already been dark when they stopped for the night, but she’d insisted Anders back into the spot for just this reason. She scooted forwards, going up on her knees to open the other door, so the view was unobstructed, and a cool breeze blew into the van.

Anders immediately groaned and reached out blindly for the covers. His hand landed on her bare calf and he opened one eye. “What are you…?” He tilted his head back, saw the open doors and groaned again. “I’ve married a madwoman.” He grumbled, pulling the covers up to his ears. But his eyes went to the simple gold band on the fourth finger of her left hand and he felt a thrill of satisfaction. He’d done it. He’d actually married Annie Hawke.

He’d fought it for years, just as he’d fought their getting together in the first place. He’d warned her against the very idea of it, telling her it wouldn’t happen, he wasn’t the marrying kind, his first marriage had proved that, and she shouldn’t expect more from him, he loved her, she knew that and he wanted to be with her, but happily ever with a white wedding and 2.5 children and a minivan in the garage wasn’t in his future and the sooner she accepted that the better for both of them. 

She’d stared at him, solemnly, for so long that he’d finally blurted out, “Maker’s tits, Annie, say something.”

Her eyes had narrowed and she’d frowned. “I’m just trying to figure out why we’re keeping the children in the garage with the minivan.” She said, and had immediately started laughing at her own joke. She hadn’t brought it up again.

He had. Every few months like some sort of uncontrollable, masochistic compulsion, he’d bring it up again. That it would never happen, that she shouldn’t expect it. He’d even thought up new arguments: marriage was an obsolete construct anyway, just the government’s way of keeping track of you . It was society’s way of making you conform to their standards of normality. And what difference did a piece of paper make anyway: did some clerk’s signature suddenly validate their relationship? Change it in any way? No, of course it didn’t. She understood that, right?

And she’d just smile, a hint of laughter in her eyes, and say. “Sure.”

And then one evening almost three years to the day from when they’d first gotten together, they’d been sitting alone in the apartment above the Hanged Man, that just the two of them shared now. He’d been finishing up some notes from the patients he’d seen that day and had looked over at her and something had happened.

He still didn’t know what.

She hadn’t been doing anything out of the ordinary, just reading some trashy fantasy novel she’d picked up about an evil cursed magister attempting to escape from an underground prison in the middle of nowhere, and the stalwart band of down on their luck adventurers trying to keep it from happening. She’d finished a three volume tome on the history of the Qun the previous night and said she needed something ridiculous to clear her brain. “Like sorbet between courses”.

She hadn’t been wearing anything particularly alluring, in fact it looked remarkably like what she had been wearing the first time he’d met her: an old pair of black leggings, and men’s v neck sweater, but it was his sweater she wore now. Her hair was up, the way it had been that night too, skewered into place with a pencil, and as he watched she pulled the pencil out and all that glorious hair came tumbling down around her. 

“Annie.”

“Mmm?” She didn’t look up from her book.

“Marry me.”

She raised her eyes, watched him for a moment and then smiled. “Sure.” She said, and looked back down at her book.

He was a bit nonplussed by her reaction. “Annie.”

Her lips curved into a smile. “Mmm?”

“Did you hear what I just said?”

The smile deepened enough that he could see the dimple at the corner of her mouth. “Sure. You asked me to marry you.”

He pushed back his chair and stood, crossing the room until he stood in front of her. She didn’t acknowledge his presence in any way. “And?” He prompted.

She turned a page of her book. “And I said yes.” She said still not looking at him.

He took the book out of her hand and tossed it on to the coffee table. “You said ‘sure’.”

She blinked innocently up at him. “Isn’t that the same thing?”

He could only goggle at her. Technically it was, he supposed, but… when he looked at her eyes were dancing merrily. He pointed an accusing finger at her. “I see what you’re doing. You don’t believe I mean it, do you?” 

She just smiled.

“Marry me.” He said again.

“Sure.” She said agreeably.

“I’m serious.”

“I know.” 

“Marry me.” He repeated.

“Sure.” She was laughing now. 

“I’m not talking about a long engagement here, dragging it out for a year or anything like that.”

“Good.” She said.

“Or any engagement at all. We should go down to the Keep and just do it.” He threatened.

“Sure.” 

Did she not believe him? “Tomorrow. We’ll get Varric to be the witness.”

“Sure.” She said yet again. “I think we need two though, I’m sure Aveline would do it if we asked, and she’s just across the Keep from the clerk’s office, so it won’t be inconvenient.”

He went down on his knees in front of the couch and pulled her close. She came willingly, sliding her arms around his neck. “Marry me.” He said, a little more frantically this time.

For a moment he thought she’d say ‘sure’ yet again, but then her face softened. “Ask me.” She whispered.

And he almost sagged with relief. He smiled and brushed her hair back from her face. “Anabel Esme Hawke, will you marry me?”

And the smile she gave him was one he’d remember until his dying breath. “Yes.” She said.

In the end it had been that simple. They’d gone to the Keep the next day and been married.

Three days later and here they were, man and wife. 

He sat up, pulling the covers with him and moved behind her, wrapping her in his arms, and the quilt.

She tilted her head back, smiling up at him. “Look. The sun is rising. It’s beautiful.”

“You’re beautiful.” He said pressing a kiss to the top of her head. 

They watched in silence as the sun crept over the Horizon and then she turned in his arms. “Now, aren’t you glad I woke you for that?” She demanded.

He gave a noncommittal grunt and she laughed, slipping her hand over his, looking at the matching rings they wore. “We’re married.” She said as if she couldn’t quite believe it. 

His arms tightened around her. “We are.” He had no regrets at all about that, but… He looked down at her. “You know nothing else has changed, right? I’m not moving to the suburbs and joining the PTA or anything like that.” 

She looked up at him with laughing eyes. “I think you have to kids before they let you join the PTA.” She said.

He rolled his eyes. “Very funny. I’m serious though, Annie. I’ve never had any desire to reproduce. I don’t like kids, and they don’t like me. And I’d be a lousy father anyway. It’s just not for me. You understand that, right?”

She looked back out at the ocean. “Sure.” She said agreeably and her mouth curved into a satisfied smile. “Sure.”


End file.
